


A Day as the Half Blood Prince

by younoknowme93



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Eventual Harry Potter/Severus Snape, Harry Potter/Half-blood prince - Freeform, M/M, References to Depression
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-10-18
Updated: 2018-01-10
Packaged: 2019-01-18 23:34:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,716
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12398541
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/younoknowme93/pseuds/younoknowme93
Summary: Harry can't help himself.  There is something breathtaking about the quiet mysterious boy who previously owned his potions text book.  It doesn't matter that he will never meet his Prince, Harry still loves him.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I always write smut. It is my go to. I have this rated for teen in up... meaning... I choose a lower rating that I plan/hope to stick too.... because I don't want to up the rating later on.... but who knows. I'm posting the first chapter... I have the second about half done, but I wanted to go ahead and post what I have. Onward my ducklings.

The half-blood Prince.  A man that in all likely hood is probably dead.  The potions text must be upward of fifty years old, but these facts don’t seem to calm my resolve.  I’ve learned more from the Prince than from any other teacher in this school.  And not just potions or general magic.  This wasn’t just a potions textbook.  Not to the Prince.  It was a journal, a log of his ideas, a record of thoughts.  The margins of the slightly yellowed pages hold his neat penmanship.  Though mostly dischanted now, Hermione told me that whomever this book belonged too has several wards and protective charms placed on this innocent looking book.  We aren’t even sure of every spell the Prince used.  With time, Hermione possibly could discover all of it’s secrets, but I gave her a lame excuse about not being curious or some such.  Really.  I didn’t want her reading the intimate words that I felt only the Prince and I had seen.  Words that only I could understand.

The suggestions for potions proved to be invaluable.  Educational.  Useful.  These were some of the reasons I became absorbed in the words scrawled in neat penmanship.   I don’t know what possessed the Prince to write his innermost thoughts, but each word written, I reread countlessly. 

_I wish I could run away.  ~P_

Sometimes slivers of his unhappiness will poke through.  His disdain for others.  Anger.  But I understand it all too well.  Some margins would have short poems, or pleas for help.  The distaste would sit in the pit of my stomach as I would read distressed words.

_Today I was going to kill myself.  I changed my mind at the last moment.  I think I just don’t want my body to be found and for everyone to know that the abuse actually affected me.  ~P_

_She will never forgive me for this one on her own, and I am unable to talk to her as I once could.  Her friendship is the only thing I have of any importance, so I must think of a way to earn her forgiveness. ~P_

He would often speak of a Her or She, but never actual names.  From the way he wrote, I feel certain that it was the same girl.  I would think he was in love with her if not for the few moments where he all but confessed to being gay.

_If I were normal everything would be so much simpler, but I’m not normal.  ~P_

_She is the only one who knows about my preference, I trust her, but I still would feel more comfortable if this abnormality were known only to myself.  ~P_

_I’ve started work on a potion to right my unnatural interest in the wrong sex, but thus far I’ve found no cure.  ~P_

I surmised that the Prince was a lonely person who -though immensely talented- didn’t know how to be likeable.  He rarely wrote of his home life, but when he did, it was never positive.  Poverty.  Abuse.  He seemed to use this book as an escape from a world that didn’t want him.  It was almost eerily familiar. 

His words were not always kind, but I could see the light behind his steely words.

_I’m the monster!  I’m the freak!?  Fine.  I will bide my time, but I will not always be someone easily pushed around.  I’ll become strong.  I’ll become the sort of person that no one can take advantage of. ~P_

I think all the Prince wanted was someone to reach out their hand and try to understand him.  Try and look past the carful illusion, and save him.  And I think that’s what brought me here.  Invisibility cloak over my head as I sneak down to the abandoned girl’s restroom for the third week in a row- the Prince’s book in hand.  His carefully written words still pounding in my head.

_~~Her friendship is the only thing that I have ever valued in my life.  If I can create this potion then I will be able to obtain her forgiveness.~~   I should just give up.  I have brewed countless potions, but this one may very well be impossible.  I’ve spoiled so many ingredients in my quest to right my wrong, but She wouldn’t forgive me even if I did succeed in making this potion.  I deserve as much.  ~P_

Above the lines are ingredients and steps to an unnamed potion.   I’ve not told anyone about my goal, I know they would laugh.  I have plans to brew a potion -that I know nothing about, not even the use for it- that even someone as talented as the Prince couldn’t brew.  Merlin.  It may not even be possible, but I have to try.  I have to try. 

I know that I have little talent in potions.  Most of what I know I obtained from this very book.  The writer couldn’t even brew this tricky concoction.  I don’t have a single change.  But.  I’m here again.  Trying.

I feel that the Prince is a kindred spirit.  He says so many things that I intimately understand.  Things that I can’t share with anyone.  Not even Ron or Hermione.  Thoughts of bitterness and pain to the point that suicidal contemplations are an everyday occurrence.  Not that I ever could.  There is too much riding on my existence.  Too much sacrificed just for me to live.  His dark somber words echo inside of me though, and I understand him at least this much.

_I don’t know how to play the game; so, naturally I end up losing.  The world certainly wouldn’t care if I were to ‘go missing’, and without her, no person could care either.  My mother and father would even be glad.  I don’t mind dying, but I want to do at least one thing worthwhile.  Even if no one will remember me for it, that’s fine.  ~P_

_Admitting fear is not something I can let show.  I wish that they were dead.  My parents.  Those idiots that harass me.  Especially him.  He enjoys making a sport out of humiliating me in front of everyone.  As if my existence weren’t already difficult enough.  He can have Her if She wants Him.  I do not want to stand in the way of Her happiness, but she’s my best friend. ~~I love her~~.  There.  I said it.  I can’t say it to her.  I don’t want to be alone.  But I understand that I don’t really deserve her friendship.  I’ve mucked everything up to much.  I hate myself.  ~P_

The glimpses into his life show like a mirror.  I do not think it’s likely that I will solve the mystery of this nameless potion, but for him I’d like to try.  I follow the recipes and the alterations to it not really knowing what I’m looking to happen.  I follow the Prince’s notes trying to think how I believe he would.

_~~3 drops of Phoenix tears.~~ (the potion is more volatile than expected more Phoenix tears needed) _

_A sprig of aged holly grinded with a ~~pewter pestle~~ (A stone pestle provides better results- more experiments needed)_

_Simmer for ~~2 hours~~ stirring counterclockwise every ~~10~~ minutes (half an hour will suffice- stir continuously)_

The instructions go on with several crossed-out sections and improvements.  On a separate paper, in my own hand, I write out the instructions and every combination of both the old and new suggestions.  I’ve already attempted to brew this potion twenty-eight times.  Each time ends in similar ways.  Fumes and smoke. 

“Trying again?”  Myrtle asks as she flies overhead.  She knows what I’m trying to do, I pretty well had to tell her so that she will keep what I’m doing in her territory a secret.  A wave of curiosity sets in.

“Myrtle, you’ve been haunting this bathroom for a while right?”

“Oh yes Harry.”  She smiles seemingly happy to have me take an interest in her.

“Do you know who the half-blood prince is?” 

“Maybe.”  She says non-committedly.  “I’ve had a lot of people try to come here.  Most of the time hoping to snog a boy or girl they like in private, but I’ve also had a few people come and use my bathroom to do just what you’re doing.  Brew unregistered potions.”  I hold the book gently against my chest.

“Have you ever had someone come here trying to kill themselves?”  She blinks at me a few times.

“I’ve gotten attached to a few students since I’ve died.  The students come and go, but I remember them anyways.  Some talk like I’m not here.”  She hasn’t really answered my question.  “If you add mermaid scales instead of the oil shales, then the potion will turn a yellow color.  That’s how you know it’s done.  You aren’t as talented as the owner of that book, but you are just as stubborn.” 

“So you did know him?”

“Do.  I do know him.  When you are a ghost you learn things.  This castle is my home, I want to protect it just as much as everyone else.  Make the potion and then drink it while thinking about the half-blood prince.  That should get you your answers.”  I want to ask her more, but she makes it clear that she will not answer my questions.  “Just consider this my contribution to the war effort.”  I follow her instructions only a bit leery of what she’s planning.  It takes three full hours, but it turns yellow just like she said it would.  I wait for it to cool and then thinking about the Prince, I take a sip.

And promptly pass out.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WOOO second chapter. Don't let my enthusiasm deceive you. I'm exhausted and feeling down. But. I got a second chapter for my lovely ducklings. ONWARD MY DUCKLINGS!!!!

Everything hurts.  Is it because of the potion?  My bones ache.  I’m not in the girl’s bathroom.  I’m in a bed, but not one in the medical wing.  I’m not sure where I am, and that’s a little frightening.  My left arm burns, I must have fallen on it when I passed out.  The bed has silky green sheets and a lot of pillows.  The room is mostly dark save for a small table lamp on a desk.  It feels like my very bones are on fire.  But I can move and I can stand.  My legs wobble but I feel I’m taller than I’m use to.  How long was I out?

And what am I wearing?!

An old well-worn sleep shirt hangs off of me.  I don’t recognize it as mine.  When I grasp the shirt, I see my hands and they aren’t mine.  My nails are stubby and bitten.  These nails are filed evenly and even the cuticles are clean of any rubbish.  The fingers are long.  Elegant.  Maybe even beautiful.  They are how I would picture the Prince’s hands to look.

The Prince.

The potion.  What exactly did it do?  I almost collapse when I try to take a step.  I’m afraid to do anything.  It’s more than obvious that this isn’t my body.  But I can’t just stand here.  I stagger around the room searching for a mirror.  Am I the half-blood prince.  Does that mean that he is me right now?  Oh merlin.  I didn’t bathe yesterday. 

Not the issue right now Harry.  Focus on finding out who and where you are.  I manage to find a bathroom, but there’s no mirror.  What sort of person doesn’t have a mirror at least in their bathroom.  And I can’t find a mirror of any sort anywhere. 

I really don’t want to invade this person’s privacy.  But I can’t very well wander around in a night shirt.  I nearly jump out of my… his skin when the door opens.  It’s Dumbledore.  Thank Merlin.  It’s someone familiar.

“Severus my boy, forgive my intrusion.  But I was a bit concerned when you didn’t come to the staff meeting.  I surmise that last night was a bit rough?”

Severus.  As in.  Severus Snape? As in my potions professor.  The greasy git.

“It would seem you are not the only one out of sorts this morning.  Young Harry was found unconscious.  He’s seems to be stricken with exhaustion and is currently in the medical wing.  I know that you must be hard on the boy, but I ask that you lighten up on him today.”  He seems to take in my appearance for the first time.  “Last night really must have been too much on you.  I don’t believe I have ever seen you as lax as you are now.  I’ve come to check on you much earlier before and I never once caught you in your sleep clothes.”  He laughs easily.  “You are so gifted at hiding your human points.”

“Headmaster.  I’m not Snape.”  He laughs again but when I don’t back down his eyes bore deeper into me.  “I don’t understand why I’m in his body, but I think Snape might be in mine.”

“Harry?  My boy is that you?”  I turn the hands that I thought to be beautiful over and look for anything that could answer the numerous questions I can’t bring myself to voice. 

“Yes.  Headmaster, what should I do?”  He paces for just a moment. 

“You are to stay in this room and not leave.  I will go and retrieve your body and check to see if Severus is indeed inside of you.  I will be back momentarily.”  I stand awkwardly in this unfamiliar room. 

Why am I in Snape’s body?  I feel dirty.  This is weird and it’s messed up.  If he’s in my body… that’s a nauseating thought.  This ache will not go away either.  It’s in my bones.  In his bones.  No wonder he’s so pissy every day.   I want to bite off a first years head if only for a distraction. 

Now that I understand whose room I’m in, I don’t feel comfortable sitting on the bed.  Or really touching anything for that matter.  I look at the hands that aren’t mine again.  I can’t believe I thought they were beautiful.  No.  That doesn’t matter.  I’m the only one who knows I had that though.  I don’t want to look around.  I don’t want to see _anything_ that I shouldn’t.  This is bloody awkward.  And the pain will not go away.  I want to cry.  I want to crawl back on that bed curl into a ball and just cry and scream.  I refuse to think about that now though.

I hear them approach before I see them. 

With my arms crossed over my chest, Snape glares at me angerly.  It’s hard to take myself seriously. 

“Potter, what did you do!”  I’ll have to ask him how he managed to make my voice sound angry like that.  It’s more of a feral growl. 

“I didn’t do anything.”  I didn’t, right? 

“Severus my boy, I must go and attend to the students in the great hall.  I will naturally take over your potions lessons and I will see to it that Harry’s school work is complete.  I will inform his friends that Harry is very sick and very contagious and thus cannot receive visitors.  For now, I will leave it to you to discover what has happened.”  His eyes twinkle, and I watch myself glare at the headmaster.  “I trust you boys will strive to get along.”  Dumbledore nods to the both of us.  As soon as the door closes, my eyes hidden behind those frames glare at me.  Is this really what I look like while angry?

“What did you do Potter.  You must have done something stupid.”  He casually walks and sits on his bed.  It’s surreal to watch yourself sit on a man’s bed.  As if realizing how wrong it is for one of his students to be sitting on his bed, he stands up. 

“I didn’t do anything.  Nothing that would cause this at least.” 

“Typical Gryffindor.  You must have done something.  I demand you tell me anything that could have caused this.”  When I don’t speak he snarls at me.  “I swear Potter.  Talk or I will shave your head.”

“I’m telling you, I didn’t do anything that would have caused this.”  The potion last night.  But it wouldn’t have done this.  Unless I messed it up.  “At least I don’t think I did.”

“Explain yourself.”  He raises one of my eyebrows.

“I was sort of brewing a potion last night in the abandoned girls bathroom.”  He snorts.

“You brewing?  What could cause you to so callously ignore your own safety.  You must know about your pathetic lack of talent.”

“Look, I may not be as good as you, but I do pretty well for my grade.  I just wanted to try to brew a potion… for a friend.”

“And why didn’t this ‘friend’ brew it themselves.”

“He wasn’t able too.”  That’s more or less correct.  The man in my body rolls his eyes.

“Fine.  And what exactly was this potion intended to do Potter?”

“I don’t really know.”  I can’t stop myself from admitting. 

“Even squibs know the dangers of brewing unregistered potions.  Only a suicidal idiot would attempt that.  You amaze me Potter.”  He says with distain. 

“I don’t expect you to understand, but it was important to my friend so it was important to me.”  Snape shakes his head.

“I demand to know who this ‘friend’ of yours is.”  I don’t respond.  I don’t really know how to.  I don’t want hear the ridicule.  That’s why I understood the Prince.  He dealt with this too.  He would understand.  “Potter.  You will answer me.”

“He isn’t really a friend.”

“The name Potter.”

“I don’t know his name.”  I confess.  This clearly isn’t the answer he wanted to hear.  “I never met him.”  I elaborated.  “At the start of the year, I didn’t have a potions text book so I had to use one of the old ones.  Well.  The one I used, had a lot of writing in it.  That’s how I’ve been doing so well in Slughorn’s class.  The person who owned the text book before me, wrote a lot of notes in the margins.  I don’t know his real name, and I don’t expect you to understand.  I know how stupid it sounds.  But he’s really good at brewing potions and there was a potion that he was trying to create.  It was important to him.  And since it was important to him, it’s important to me.  I know that if he couldn’t do it, then it wasn’t likely that I could.  And even if I somehow managed to brew this potion correctly, it wouldn’t matter.  Because he gave up.  I don’t even care if you have me suspended for cheating at this point.  You have this idea about me.  You think I’m a certain way when I’m not. If you have me suspended, fine.  But I want to keep that textbook.  I’ll happily pay for it.  I’m sure it wouldn’t hold value to anyone else, but it does to me.  So please.  Have some humanity.  I need that book.  It’s the only thing that has ever made sense.” 

I know that I’m crying.  Maybe that’s why he remains quiet, because the person controlling his body is making him blubber like a new born.

“Potter.  Sit down.”  I look at the bed and at the ‘me’ ordering himself.  Everything hurts.  So, I don’t resist.  I sit down.  More because my legs are burning than to actually obey.  “Using the old textbook as a guide you followed the recipe that he has created.  Am I correct?”

“Yes Sir.”  I hang my head and dark hair falls in front of my face.  Up close it looks just as shiny and oily.  He exhales and it sounds more like a sigh.

“You brewed the potion correctly.”  He says. 

“Sir, I don’t understand.  How could you know that?”

“For now, let’s drop the pretenses.  That potion was created by a desperate frightened child.  The boy who created that potion had cruelly treated his closest friend.  He was sure that nothing could be done, but desperate he tried to craft a potion that would switch their minds and bodies.  Because the only thing he was talented with was brewing.  He wasn’t fully sure how success this plan would go.  He was going to let her do as she pleased.  Humiliate him or simply experience his life for what it was.  He thought that if she could understand why he treated her in such a way, that maybe she would be able to forgive him.”

“Sir, I don’t understand.”

“Come now Potter, even you aren’t this stupid.  Even teachers start off as students.”


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know it's been a while. I swear I'm working on all the stories. Just a lot going on in life. I love you all. I hope you enjoy. Onward my ducklings.

“Sir, are you trying to say that you were… are…”

“Potter.  This potion will last the length of one day.  In that time, you are not to leave this room under any circumstances.  I too must stay here.  It could be potentially dangerous.”  I watch the boy who has taken over my body rub my left arm.  I’m sure the dark mark is burning.  His forehead is burning where I know the scar to be.  It’s a very familiar pain. 

“Are you really the..”  He looks horrified and he cannot bring himself to finish speaking.  Blessed the heavens for the quiet. 

“What I am or am not is hardly important right now.  You succeeded in brewing that potion some time after three.  I was still very much conscious at that time.  Can your imbecilic brain remember the exact time that you drank the potion?”  He still looks to horrified to speak but when I clear my throat loudly he snaps out of his stupor.

“It was some time after three, that’s all I remember.”  Naturally.  Utterly useless.  But what can be expected from James Potter’s offspring.

“Then we will not know the exact time that we will return to normal.”  He looks positively green.  “Oh come now.  As deplorable as the situation is, it is just one day.  Believe me I loathe the situation as much as you do, but you are the one who got us both into this mess.  Brewing unregistered potions after hours could get you more than suspended.  It could get you killed.”  Never mind the number of times I did just that, but that isn’t the current situation.

“You wanted to kill yourself.”  It seems his mind has processed the information and he’s looking at me clearly.  I’m glad to be looking at my own sallow self for once.  I do not think that I could survive seeing someone with James Potter’s face and Lily’s eyes confronting me on my past.  My past that I thought I long since buried.  Some things I would not like a reminder on.

“I do not owe you a single explanation.”  I say simply.

“But you did want to kill yourself.  Do you still…?”

“We will not be having this discussion.”  No one should know about those thoughts.  Ever.

“Please sir, I have so many questions.”    

“No.  I will not be answering any questions you may have.  No one was ever intended to see that ratty old thing anyways.  I will be taking back by potions text and burning it.”  Just as I should have done a long time ago.

“No please!”  He flinches at his own outburst.  “Please let me have it.  I understand that it rightfully belongs to you, but please let me have it.  I will not tell anyone that it’s you.  You can even obliviate me if you would like.”  Impudent boy to not realize that I already intended to do just that.  He was never privy to that information.  “Professor Snape.  I need that book.  Please allow me to keep it.  I’ll do anything.”

“Knowing who once owned that book, I would not think you would want it.  Do not be deceived by those words.  The person who wrote in that book was just as cruel as you believe me to be today.” 

“You’re lying!  The Prince is nothing like that.”  Naive boy.

“Do not tell me what that person was like.  I know all too well!”

“You’re wrong!  The Prince isn’t cruel.  He isn’t at all!  You can’t convince me of otherwise.  I know what type of person the Prince is.”

“I can’t convince you?  Do you know what he did that was so unforgivable?”  I need to calm myself.  Stop talking.  Calm down.  There is no need to rehash all wounds.  It’s the past.  Leave the past in the past.  This is not according to plan.  The school year must be carried out according to plan.  “He called his best friend a Mudblood.  And do you know who that best friend was, you insipid child?  Your dirty blooded mother.”  I’m shaking.  Or he is shaking.  I don’t know anymore.  My head is pounding.  The anger I could see on my face in front of me is slowly draining.  My face could never look soft, but right now, looking at myself.  I look like a different person.

“Sir.  This potion was suppose to make up for what you did to my.. to my mother.  That was the ‘She’ that you wrote about.”  I refrain from turning away from the person in front of me.  I do not appreciate being so much smaller than ‘myself’.  I am not intimidated, but I am accustomed to using my height to my advantage.  I cannot like this.  “My mother.  You loved her.  She was your closest friend, and she deserted you for someone that harassed you.  She hurt you so you lashed back.”

“Your impression about the boy that wrote in that text book is wrong.”

“No.  It’s not.”  He says immediately. 

“What gives you the gal to assume you know what sort of person I was at that age just because you read a few notes.”  I force my tone to be full of contempt.  It’s not as easy in his body.

“I read them all so many times that I have most of them memorized.  You are wrong.  I’m even more positive now.  You weren’t a bad person.  I bet you still aren’t.”  I can’t restrain the laugher.

“Not bad huh?  Do you want to bet?  My left arm.  I bet it burns unbearably.  It gets uncomfortable wearing long sleeves all the time, but I don’t have much choice.  Why don’t you take a look?”  Robotically he raises the sleeve and touches the faded tattoo.  That should clear up any misconception about my standing.  It’ll make this day much easier if he continues to hate me.  Less questions that way.  Remind him of why he hates me.

“I still don’t think you are a bad person.”  Anger wells up.

“Not a bad person?!  Do you even know what that mark means?  I’m a death eater!”

“That doesn’t matter.  What happened in the past is..”

“Doesn’t matter.  Boy.  Do you know what my part in the war was?  I helped the dark lord kill people.  I killed people.  Your parents are dead because of me.  I gave him the first part of the prophecy. The one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord approaches… born to those who have thrice defied him, born as the seventh month dies… and the Dark Lord will mark him as his equal, but he will have power the Dark Lord knows not.  I gave him that information and because I told him the prophecy, he killed Lily!  Do you get it now?!  Everything bad in your life is because of me.  Do you think I’m unaware of  your home life.  I know all about your aunt.  She was a horribly cruel person.  I should know.  I have no doubts that you are being mistreated.  It is all because I gave the dark lord a prophecy that got your parents killed.”

“You aren’t bad.”  He says firmly.

“How could you possibly believe that!?”  I can’t see straight and I can’t calm down.  It’s my fault.  Doesn’t he understand that.  He should at least have braincells for that.  “What gives you the stupid idea that I’m not a horrible person?!”

“Because.  Sir.  You’ve been crying ever since you said the word ‘mudblood.’”  Preposterous.  I haven’t cried since Lily was killed.

But it’s true. 

I can feel the tears on my cheeks.  And it’s to late too hide them.

 

 

 

 

 

 

It's to late too hide them.


End file.
